Vagrant Stars
by Saerzion
Summary: A temporal distance separates an established legend and a burgeoning hero, but with the future on the line, their paths inevitably cross. Both are marked by steel and fire, entwined in the peripheral much more than they know. As the roads converge, those around them must follow. They're all bound to the lattice… these vagrants in the sky. Follow-up to "Latticework Vagabonds."
1. The Serpent Lives On

**\- I -**

 **The Serpent Lives On**

 _Sheesh. Look at this amateur. A goddamn mirelurk could do a better job hackin' away at someone's hair than whatever the hell he's doin' with those scissors. Pfft, this'll be a cinch._

He pushed off from the post he had been leaning against outside the Publick Occurrences office, bending down to pick up the worn leather vest next to his feet. The faded green snake emblem on the back caught the sunlight as he shrugged it on over his sleeveless gray shirt. He zipped up the front, still remembering what it felt like before he had cut the sleeves off the old jacket. A passing security guard spotted him and shook his head, muttering something that sounded like, "Another damn hooligan."

A wry smile stretched over his mouth. _All in the past, pal. I ain't ever gonna be a square like you tools, but hey—everyone's gotta grow the fuck up sometime._

He hauled his oversized pack over his shoulders and strode toward the open Super Salon building up ahead, stopping in front of the entrance to size up the barber as he finished with his last customer. An older woman wearing a Red Rocket jumpsuit sat scratching her head on the shop's couch. She ignored the newcomer as she counted the pile of caps in her lap, her permanent scowl growing even more pronounced as the numbers obviously failed to add up. Around them, the late afternoon bustle of Diamond City brought life to the air, and he wondered to himself why it took ten years and a favor request before he thought to move north.

As soon as the customer stood and walked out, the barber turned to greet him, but he cut him off.

"Yo. How long you been runnin' this joint? The way you cut hair, you shoulda gone out of business ten minutes after you started."

"Say what?" the barber exclaimed, curling his lip. "And just who're you supposed to be?"

"Butch DeLoria, the new barber in town," the older man replied as he stepped forward and filled the space with his imposing presence. "So beat it, junior. I've been watching you work since I got here, and it's a damn travesty how you've brainwashed all these people to think your haircuts are any good."

"What the fuck—"

"John, what's going on over there?" the sour-faced lady called in an equally acerbic voice.

"Ma, this bastard thinks he can just march in here, insult me, and take over my shop," John answered, glowering at Butch. "Take a hike, asshole. Who do you even think you are—"

A loud thud interrupted him as the heavy pack landed on the floor and issued a clanging noise that revealed thousands of bottle caps inside.

"Here's how this is gonna work," Butch began as he nudged the pack forward with his boot and crossed his arms. "I'm gonna buy you out, and you're gonna get lost. You've done enough damage to the locals' hairdos, all right? Also, your whole jock vibe and shitty varsity jacket make me sick."

John opened and closed his mouth as his eyes bulged in outrage, but his mother rose to her feet and made a beeline for the pack of caps. Butch waited, smirking, as she kneeled down and peeked inside. Not five seconds later, she straightened and addressed her son.

"Take the offer, John," she ordered, placing her hands on her hips as she eyed Butch warily. "There's at least ten thousand caps in there."

John shot her a betrayed look. "You can't be serious, Ma. This is a family business! We don't even know who this guy is. He could be swindling us, or worse—he'll redo all my hard work these past few years. My reputation will be ruined!"

"Trust me, any change to your reputation right now would be a fucking improvement," Butch drawled. "So, we got a deal? That pack is worth more than your entire damn shop. Play it smart and sell upfront. I don't wanna do no hostile takeover or nothin'."

As John sputtered a stream of choice words, his mother pinned Butch with a suspicious glare.

"So what's the catch, stranger?" she demanded. "There's got to be a reason you're so eager to buy out some shoddy barbershop in the middle of the city's slums. If you're this filthy rich, you could buy yourself a place in the Upper Stands and start your own business there."

"Yeah, so why don't you go do that?" John snapped before his mother elbowed him in the ribs.

"'Cause that ain't my style," Butch declared, shrugging. "Anyway, why the hell are you asking questions when I've handed you cash on a silver platter? You in or not?"

"All right," the woman said when her son opened his mouth again. "We'll sell. But if you're doing something shady and get caught breaking the law, this transaction was legitimate, and we're not involved. Understood?"

Butch grinned and inclined his head. While he had never possessed the charisma to deal well with people, he knew to cover his bases when making a pitch. "Sure thing. I'll sign a contract for ya, whatever. Glad we could work this out nice and easy."

"Hello, does anyone realize I'm still here?" John barked. "It's _my_ shop, too. Don't I get a say in any of this?"

"No," came the simultaneous responses as Butch and the woman—Cathy, she said—shook hands.

John threw his arms up in frustration and kicked the styling chair. "Well, I guess I'll start packing or something."

"Yeah, you do that. We'll finally be living it up at the Upper Stands, son," Cathy told him as she yanked on the pack straps and struggled to lift it. "Help me with this thing, will you? I don't know how this man managed to lug around all these caps by himself." After a glance at Butch's ripped arms, she added, "Oh. Probably because we got a bodybuilding beefcake over here."

Butch stuffed one hand in the pocket of his jeans as his other came up to stroke his goatee. "'Bodybuilding beefcake.' Now that's a business name to consider."

"Don't you dare!" John cried as he assisted his mother with their new monetary fortune. "I'll never be able to sleep knowing what a godawful name 'Super Salon' was replaced with."

"Relax," Butch told him, stepping around to the rear side of the building to fetch a second smaller pack that contained his personal effects. "I had the name picked out before I even laid eyes on this crummy place."

He rifled through the contents as John and Cathy spent the next half hour moving their belongings out of their corner cellar room. Once they enlisted the help of a few other residents, Cathy led the way to the Upper Stands, her eagerness evident in the speed with which she flew up the ramps. John, however, lingered at the front of the shop, casting a forlorn gaze over the establishment. Butch ignored him as he tore down the No Smoking sign and lit a cigarette.

"You'll… you'll look out for this place, won't you? Make sure it'll still be running and taken care of and stuff?" John asked him, looking ready to latch onto the nearest column.

"Sure, sure," Butch assured him in a dismissive tone, blowing out a cloud of smoke and checking his reflection in the mirror. "I was one of the top barbers in the Capital Wasteland. I know how to run these things. Now skedaddle. I got work to do."

John stayed in place when Butch reached into his inner vest pocket and produced three torn pieces of black leather, each one bearing the same snake emblem as the one on his back. The younger man watched as he set them in a line on the nearby dresser. Two side by side, a space, and then the last one. The arrangement appeared to hint at a missing third piece.

"So… you're some rich hotshot from the Capital who came all the way to the Commonwealth to run a barbershop?" John questioned, his continued presence eliciting a vexed sigh from Butch. "Maybe you can see why that has red flags all over it?"

"Look, kid. Your mom was right. I got my reasons, but they don't have anything to do with any of ya." His fingers skated over the empty space of the third snake emblem. "It's something personal."

John remained silent for a while before piping up again. "I'm going to regret asking this, but what do you intend to rename the shop?"

The weathered lines in Butch's suntanned face deepened as he grinned and swiped a hand through his typical barrel roll hairstyle. "'Serpent Cuts.' Long story, but from here on out, this place is under Tunnel Snake jurisdiction."

With a flick of his wrist, the Toothpick switchblade appeared in his hand. Its serrated edge gleamed in the light, the handle worn and nicked, but still dependable for several more years to come. John shuffled in apparent unease at the sight of the well-used weapon. Putting out his cigarette, Butch moved to tower over the intimidated man.

"So. I won't say it again. Unless you want the fangs, get the hell off my turf."

x-x-x-x-x

He used the luminescence of the neon sign to double-check the directions in the handwritten letter. Valentine Detective Agency. Confirmed by the arrow through the glowing heart.

 _No mistaking it. This has gotta be the right place._

In the late evening hour, a cold stillness settled across the city's atmosphere. He adjusted his collar to shield his neck from the cool breeze and gripped the metal item in his left hand as he lifted his wrist. Blinking down at the time on his Pip-Boy screen, he frowned. Almost midnight. Setting up the barbershop had taken longer than he'd thought.

He folded the letter and slid it into his vest pocket before rapping his knuckles on the wooden door. A slight commotion resounded from inside as someone moved across the floor and knocked over what sounded like stacks of papers. He tapped his foot impatiently, listening to the grumbled cursing that accompanied the footsteps trudging toward the entrance. When the door swung open, he found himself facing a frazzled-looking woman dressed in office attire.

"Sorry, but we're not taking any new cases right now," she declared before Butch could even get a word out.

His arm shot forward to block the door when she tried to close it. "Hold it. I don't got a case that needs looking into, I just need to talk to this Valentine guy."

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "May I ask what for?"

Butch glanced around behind him and then bent closer. "He's a synth, right? I hear he's an older model. I need to find out if he knows anything about some Institute place."

"Some… 'Institute place'?" the woman repeated, her voice taking on a disdainful intonation. "You're not from around here, are you? If you need to catch up on your Commonwealth history, please take your questions to anyone else around the city. Nick doesn't have time to—"

"All right, you got me. I ain't from this part of the map, no," Butch interjected, shifting his weight as he worked to keep his temper at bay. "But I need to talk to the man. See, I got this thing…" He held out the object in his left hand, showing it to her in the dim lighting. "And I gotta know how it works."

She squinted at it and quirked an eyebrow in bewilderment. "What is that?"

"An android component. I think that's what it's called, anyway."

Her expression grew guarded. "Why do you need to know of its workings?"

"It ain't for me. I'm just the messenger, okay? I know someone who wants to set things right with an android we knew a while back."

"If this is a matter that has to do with helping synths, why don't you go find the Railroad instead? This is their specialty."

Butch bristled. "'Cause… let's just say some bridges already got burned a long time ago," he stated reluctantly. "This is my one lead and last shot for getting anywhere. So can I see Valentine or not?"

She stared him down, seeming to search for any sign that he posed a threat. He accepted the scrutiny, as he had nothing to hide in this part of the assignment. When she appeared to read the frank honesty on his face, she sighed and relaxed her unyielding posture.

"I'm Ellie Perkins, his secretary," she said in a jaded tone as she leaned into the doorframe. "It's now my job to tell people that he isn't here, and I don't know when he'll be back."

Butch's forehead creased in consternation. "Well, where the hell is he?"

"He's accompanying a friend on a very important mission. They stop by the city periodically, but not on any kind of regular schedule. So if you're so desperate to see him, I'd hang around town until he shows up," Ellie told him, her gaze drifting down to the component resting on his palm. "And I'd keep that hidden around here if I were you. Nicky is an exception, but synths and everything related to them are unwelcome in Diamond City. I won't ask how you came by that, but I'm going to hope you don't mean trouble for us."

Butch clicked his tongue, already finding the widespread assumption irritating. "Nah. I'm done with that kind of shit. This is a legit issue that needs dealin' with."

She made as if to say something, but then her line of sight landed on the illuminated contraption on his arm. "Is that a Pip-Boy? It looks different from every other one I've seen. Are you actually from a Vault, by any chance?"

"So what if I am?"

"Interesting. We don't get many Vault dwellers passing through, but you're the second one to come knocking in the past few weeks. If anything, Nicky's been feeling especially charitable to you folks. He'll probably be willing to hear you out when you can catch him," Ellie remarked, and then hurried to add, "But like I said. The only thing you can do at this time is wait."

Butch nodded in disappointment and turned to saunter away. "Right, fine. I'll be around and on the lookout for your boss. Let's just hope mine doesn't run outta patience."

No response followed him as he made his way back down the narrow alley. His grip tightened around the android component, the minor setback sending his mind whirring. Twiddling his thumbs hadn't been part of the plan, and without more details to go on, he couldn't draft together a backup.

 _So… what now?_

A few security officers peered at him as they walked by, but he paid them no heed as he stomped into the barbershop. The android component landed in his open pack next to the sink, and he switched on the string lights hanging down from the ceiling. Rubbing the back of his neck, he tried to figure out his next move. Should he wait it out after all? In truth, he would have been fine with that, but the secrecy surrounding his task left him cautious and on edge.

As his eyes strayed to the snake emblems he had nailed to the far wall, he scowled. _Friggin' hell, nosebleed. You've got a goddamn army at your disposal. And you still need me to haul my ass up across the country to do your dirty work?_

His rising ire dropped back down when he approached the torn pieces of leather. The empty third space stared back at him, a reminder of the intact bond, distant but still present. He pressed his hand against it, releasing a weary breath as his gaze roved over the commemoration wall.

 _Well… what're friends for, right? Just glad you're still rockin' the insignia. Only two of us left from the old days. Probably should've told ya I had to dig two graves after Paul's while you've been out west._

He stepped back and checked his Pip-Boy again, scrolling through the interface to find the marked date. Only a few days to go. Maybe when they saw each other in person again, she could explain to him just what they would be doing in the Commonwealth. As vague as her instructions had been, he could only assume she wanted him in the dark. But even so, like some schmuck, he had agreed to do her bidding. Anyone would tell him he had come into this blind.

Then again, they shared an extensive history, and he already knew part of the reason she had personally financed and arranged for his relocation. A source on the outside, a clandestine party behind the scenes. Whatever she was planning, it all revolved around a single goal.

Butch drummed his fingers on the spot that belonged to her Tunnel Snake emblem, the question burning in his thoughts. "Why're you still lookin' for that ice queen, Alex?"

x-x-x-x-x

 **A/N:** I'm calling this a follow-up instead of a sequel to "Latticework Vagabonds" because it will feature various people rather than just the protagonists of the first story. As such, it isn't necessary to read "Latticework Vagabonds" to understand the history between the characters. This will mainly follow the major faction quests in _Fallout 4_ , plus a few added individuals and details I'm throwing in as my own spin. Obviously, there will be spoilers galore, so read at your own discretion. Also, some of these chapters will have corresponding artwork of the characters. My painting of 30-ish-year-old Butch DeLoria is linked on my profile.


	2. The Survivor Ascends

**\- II -**

 **The Survivor Ascends**

 _Nate… somehow, I… have stepped into your shoes._

She felt the perspiration gathering on her forehead within the helmet of the T-60, her muscles already growing sore as she struggled to steady her command of the vertibird's mounted minigun. The weapon spun an unremitting stream of rounds at the super mutants below, the barrel glowing orange in the heat of the fight. Beside her, MacCready gripped the handle above the open side of the aircraft, working to stay balanced in his T-51 and offering his aid by loudly pointing out all the targets she missed. She gritted her teeth and tried to compensate for the recoil, relying on the power armor to stabilize her aim.

 _This Brotherhood of Steel faction… they gave me the rank of 'knight.' They call me a soldier. A sister in arms. A lifelong comrade. They want me to fight for them, live for them…_

"Vi, behemoth at ten o'clock!" MacCready yelled.

 _Die for them._

"Shit," Viola hissed as the gargantuan creature hurled the remnants of a car engine at the vertibird. Releasing the minigun, she dropped to the floor just as the engine struck the battered exterior. A shower of rust and metal clanged against her armor, and she made no move to stand, hoping to stay out of the line of fire at least until they landed.

A pair of strong hands seized her pauldrons and tossed her wishful thinking out the window.

"Get up, Belmonte!" Paladin Danse's voice bellowed through the breathing apparatus of his helmet as he hauled her to her feet. "A Brotherhood knight doesn't cower for anything!"

Viola refrained from answering, obediently taking position at the minigun and resuming her firing. She managed to keep it locked on the behemoth's head as the vertibird began its descent over Fort Strong. While Danse took out several smaller mutants using his laser rifle, and MacCready continued lending his assistance without actually helping, she bore her weight and sent up a prayer amidst the chaos.

 _How on Earth did I get roped into this?_

" _If your objective is the Institute, then we already share the same target, Knight Belmonte," declared Elder Maxson, a young man aged before his years, standing as the very picture of respected leadership against the dwindling light of the Commonwealth below. "Fall in line. Obey my orders. Represent us well. And in due time, we will take you to the heart of the Institute, where we'll do everything in our power to ensure it comes crashing down. Whatever sins they've committed against you, I promise you this—their days are numbered. Justice will be yours."_

Viola's lips fell into a hard line. _Oh. Right. I drank their pretty words and clutched at the parallels in our goals. This wouldn't be so bad if they had given me the position I wanted. I thought I could be a simple scribe, but when they looked at me, they saw the makings of a knight._

The surface beneath her feet trembled as the vertibird landed just outside the hot zone. On either side of her, both Danse and MacCready leapt out of the aircraft, the latter finally drawing his modified sniper rifle now that they had reached solid ground. Viola remained stationed at the minigun, continuing her relentless fire at the behemoth until the combined ballistics pierced through the thick hide of the monster's throat. Spurting blood from its neck, it emitted a final strangled roar before collapsing. The impact shook the earth around them, and she clamped onto her weapon as her knees almost buckled.

"Primary target down! Take out the stragglers!" Danse ordered from his cover up ahead.

Viola redirected her shooting to the super mutants charging at them from different directions. MacCready's precise trigger finger took care of nearly half before she even blinked. As her muscles became more accustomed to handling the minigun, she widened her range of fire and worked to finish off the hostiles. Once the last mutant gurgled on its own bodily fluids and keeled over, the firing ceased, and the area grew thick with stillness and death.

She pried her stiff hands from the mounted weapon, pulse racing hard as the Brotherhood pilot praised her on a job well done so far. A grateful nod served as her answer, and she leapt down from the vertibird to land next to MacCready. They moved several paces away as it took flight again to return to the Prydwen. She surveyed the devastation around them, only half-listening while MacCready muttered a reminder about loot once they completed their business here.

Paladin Danse took that moment to approach them, his laser rifle still heated and loaded in his hands. "Good work, Belmonte. Could have been cleaner, but we came out of this part unscathed. Now let's head inside."

MacCready cleared his throat. "Uh, at least a third of those dead bodies are thanks to yours truly, you know. How about some acknowledgment for the sharpshooter?"

Danse rotated his helmet toward the other man. "This is not a field trip, civilian. You're here only at Knight Belmonte's insistence. Keep up and keep quiet or leave. Now let's move."

Viola flashed her headlamp at MacCready when he aimed his rifle at Danse's turned back. "Hey. _I'm_ thankful you're here. It's just that I couldn't drag Nick with me on a Brotherhood mission…"

Her companion withdrew the rifle and waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I just like being a pain in the ass toward military types. So how much dough do you think we'll make from this Fort Strong place?"

Viola brought out her assault rifle and gazed at the fortified stronghold perched at the edge of the island, a familiar throb of wistfulness filling her chest. "I'm… not sure. The last time I was here, I never made it past the security gate while trying to bring lunch to my then-fiancé."

Their task inside went in much the same fashion. Super mutants left and right fell to their weapons, and they sustained few injuries as they progressed slowly through the dilapidated building. Viola fought against her own terror the entire time, as she did whenever she engaged in combat. As much as she had worked to adjust to the post-nuclear world in the weeks since waking from cryosleep, she still had a long way to go. Shaking off her previous roles as lawyer and mother required much effort; replacing them with the new role of Brotherhood soldier took everything she had.

Once they cleared out the main atrium, Danse split off from them to cover more ground. Viola followed his instructions without question, something she noticed about herself whenever it came to the paladin. As she and MacCready made their way through the east section of the fort, she wondered what it was about Danse that spurred her to take orders and fall in line. Had it not been for their initial meeting, she would never have considered joining any major Wasteland faction, least of all the Brotherhood of Steel. Yet here she was, eliminating creatures she knew little about, pursuing objectives in which she had no personal interest. Shaun remained her number one priority, but somehow the path to finding him had grown much more convoluted.

MacCready put his life on the line for her out of friendship and the promise of caps. At least with him, she understood his motivations. When it came to her own, she couldn't even give herself a straight answer anymore.

They continued with their task until the final shouts of the super mutants died down and stopped altogether. She backtracked around their side of the premises, double-checking each area to make sure every foe had been eliminated. MacCready trailed along behind her, the heavy footfalls of his power armor in sync with hers as she maneuvered around the mutant corpses. She tried not to think about how these green-skinned beings used to be regular humans, tapping instead into the soldier's mentality of carrying out an assignment and moving on.

Finally, they rendezvoused with Danse in the lower levels of the fort, where he removed his helmet to announce their securement of the warheads.

"Well done, knight. You must hate these mutants as much as I do," he told her.

"Nah, they were just the ones who shot first," MacCready piped up, much to Danse's clear annoyance.

Viola frowned at the paladin. "I was only completing the objective," she retorted. "Why _do_ you hate super mutants so much?"

Danse glanced at her, an unreadable look crossing his expression. "Perhaps that's something we can discuss at another time. For now, you should head back to the Prydwen and speak to Maxson. He'll debrief you and give you your next set of orders."

"What about you?"

"I'll stay here until the assigned teams arrive to take their posts," he replied, and then gave her an approving smile. "You're doing well, Belmonte. You've already learned much in the short time you've been with us. I'm aware you lack confidence in your skills, but both Maxson and I have seen your potential as a Brotherhood of Steel soldier. Have more faith in yourself. You're destined to become something great."

Viola blinked dumbly at him before stuttering out, "Th-thank you, Paladin Danse."

"It's only the truth, knight. Dismissed."

She swiveled around and clopped away, her gait mechanical as she considered his words. He gave her far too much credit, but the frank way he spoke of her abilities sparked a pleasant warmth that spread through her. Securing her rifle at her back, she grinned to herself as she and MacCready reached the entrance of the Fort.

 _I think he reminds me of you, Nate. He makes me want to better myself._

x-x-x-x-x

"How long do we have to wait until His Highness gets done with his meeting?" MacCready demanded absently, busy snooping through Quinlan's terminal while the proctor had stepped out to attend the aforementioned meeting. "Let's get this debriefing over with and have them fly us back to Sanctuary. As much as I love breaking my back sleeping on these cots, I think I'm ready to have an actual good night's sleep in my own bed."

"Hopefully we don't have too much longer," Viola remarked, setting her helmet next to his on the desk. "But it's obvious that something is… happening."

She went to peer around the corner, where knights, scribes, and initiates alike hurried back and forth across the main deck. Although everyone maintained a semblance of decorum and order, the charged atmosphere hinted at a major situation that had come up during her mission at Fort Strong. From what she observed, no one else knew exactly what was going on, either—only that they had received orders to tidy up the Prydwen to pristine condition.

"Well, whatever it is, gotta be something big for all these jarheads to be this excited," MacCready commented, still scrolling through the terminal. "That Maxson guy's a piece of work, though. I heard all about his rise to Brotherhood fame back in the Capital Wasteland. He doesn't look it, but do you know he's actually two years younger than me?"

"Really?"

"Yep. Hell, I was shooting the fuc—er, I was shooting and killing enemies when he was still some squire who hadn't even fired a weapon yet."

"That's an image I'm having trouble seeing," Viola said, turning from the halls to stare at him. "The Elder as anything but… the Elder."

From the moment she had laid eyes on him, Elder Maxson appeared to be the personification of supreme authority and power. It echoed from every particle around him, infusing his aura with the essence of a leader. His stern countenance and rigid bearing only added to his intimidating nature. When he spoke, all listened to the command of his voice, whether they wished to or not.

And when he told Viola he had granted her the rank of knight, she accepted without hesitation, so drowned was she in the piercing blue of his eyes.

"Believe me, you wouldn't recognize either of us if you'd met us as kids," MacCready stated before raising his eyebrows as he read something on the terminal. "Huh. Reading up on my Brotherhood history here. I was still in Little Lamplight when Elder Lyons died, but I didn't know Sentinel Lyons died, too, some years later."

Viola tried to divide her attention between her companion and the flurry of activity beyond the proctor's office. "Who was Sentinel Lyons?"

"A total babe," MacCready responded, and then cleared his throat. "But also a really badass lady. The Brotherhood only has one Sentinel at any time, and she was Sarah Lyons. I met her once after I got the boot from Little Lamplight. She, uh, might have helped save my ass from a pack of deathclaws I stumbled across on the route to Big Town. The way that woman moved in power armor and handled a gatling gun—just god-like. Man, it sucks that she's gone. The Brotherhood was a lot cooler when she was still around."

Viola filed the information away for further consideration at a later time. She knew little about the Brotherhood of Steel, its ranks, or its members, and she freely admitted that her interest in learning about this faction ranked low compared to her other priorities. When it all came down to it, the Brotherhood served as a way to bring her closer to finding the Institute and Shaun, nothing more.

"What changed?" she inquired, now also hoping Maxson hurried up with his meeting once her stomach began to grumble.

MacCready scratched his head. "For one thing, they weren't total pricks like they are now," he answered. "They've pretty much become the Enclave 2.0. Which is pretty ironic, because everyone in the Capital knew they'd been fighting the Enclave for years under Lyons's rule. Now with Maxson at the helm, they kind of turned into what they'd defeated."

Viola replied with an attentive, "Hmm," and continued watching the preparations in the corridors. She had trouble imagining the Brotherhood as anything other than the strict military organization they were now. She opened her mouth to ask what they had been like back at the Capital, but at that moment, a familiar petite frame in scribe attire slid down the ladder from the command deck and hurried in her direction.

"Scribe Haylen," Viola exclaimed, surprised at her presence. "What are you doing here?"

"They flew Rhys and me from the police station to be here for the arrival," Haylen explained, out of breath and seeming excited as she came to a stop a few paces away. "Come on, Elder Maxson sent me to fetch you and your companion. The vertibird will be here any minute."

"What arrival? Who's coming? Where are we going? What's even happening?" Viola asked when Haylen broke regs to grasp one of the handles on her power armor torso and tug her forward. "Hang on, my helmet—"

"Leave it, Knight Belmonte. We have to get up to the flight deck."

"But—" Viola protested in confusion before allowing Haylen to tote her toward the ladder. Trying to turn her head over her shoulder, she called, "MacCready."

"Right behind you, Vi."

Once she climbed onto the command deck, Haylen ushered her past the bewildered initiates and out the door. The cool night air swept over her face as she stepped outside. In the distance to the west, she spotted a vertibird heading straight for them. Across the flight deck, all the senior officers, the proctors, and Maxson himself formed ranks in front of one docking station. Spanning the rest of the deck, the paladins and knights stood silently in place, arranged by squads. Her curiosity growing, she followed Haylen down the staircase and toward the staff.

"Lancer Captain Kells, I've brought Knight Belmonte," Haylen declared.

Kells broke away from the other officers and intercepted them. "Very good. Back to your place in ranks, scribe. You, however," he said, swinging his firm gaze to Viola, "will stand with us."

"Sir, could someone tell me what's going on?" she all but pleaded as the sound of the approaching vertibird grew louder.

"It appears you've joined the Brotherhood at an opportune time, knight," he told her, a shine of anticipation slipping through his stoic exterior. "The Sentinel is returning to us after having spent a number of years with the Brotherhood chapter in the Mojave Wasteland."

Viola's brow furrowed, and she glanced at MacCready, who only shrugged. "The Sentinel? Sentinel Lyons? But isn't she deceased?"

Kells frowned at her and shook his head. " _Elder_ Sarah Lyons was the Sentinel at one point, and yes, she passed away several years ago, but another became Sentinel in her place after the position opened."

Viola would have pressed him with another question, but the vertibird came close enough to drown out all attempts at speech. She watched as the aircraft docked at the open station, noting the slight difference in its color scheme compared to the other vertibirds of the Prydwen. All spotlights around the exterior moved to illuminate the path for the arriving dignitary, and she found herself a bit anxious to know why Kells had her standing with the staff instead of at the back with the rest of the knights.

As soon as a few paladins exited the vertibird and assembled themselves into a line, Elder Maxson stepped forward to receive them, his eyes revealing a new kind of glint as he looked up into the aircraft.

"Sentinel," he greeted above the noise of the propellers, "allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Prydwen."

A tall figure clad in a unique set of T-51 power armor hopped down from the vertibird and strode toward him, a small entourage of officers in tow. Reaching up, the individual undid the clasps of the helmet and lifted it. Viola gawked as a long mane of curly dark hair spilled free and fluttered over a slender face. Deep brown eyes twinkled against the array of lights, and a show of white teeth contrasted against dark skin as the Sentinel smiled. Handing her helmet to a young blond man walking beside her, she closed the distance between herself and the Elder and shocked all by throwing her arms around him.

"Arthur!" she cried, her voice husky and ringing with joy. "I can't believe how long it's been. You look well. It's so good to see you."

Viola's jaw dropped at the blatant absence of professionalism and protocol. _This is the Sentinel everyone's throwing a fuss over? She… she_ hugged _the Elder. In front of everyone!_

And to her further astonishment, Maxson returned the embrace, albeit briefly, before regaining his composure. He murmured something to the Sentinel—a mild reprimand, Viola imagined—but the woman only beamed as she released him.

"The position of Elder becomes you, Arthur," she said, the fondness reflecting in her gaze.

He clearly wished to maintain a proper distance, but as if in an unthinking gesture, he pressed his hand to her back in a familiar way. "Thank you."

Viola studied their interaction, wondering at the history between the two. In the luminescence, she examined the Sentinel's features. A beautiful woman if she'd ever seen one—several years older than Maxson, closer to Viola's age. The left side of her head was shaved, but from the right spilled the untamed curls of her reddish brown hair. And over the dark skin of her face and neck, a few faded scars hinted at the dangerous capabilities she possessed.

Viola knew at once to stay on the Sentinel's good side.

"And here is our newest knight you had specifically requested to meet," Maxson announced, glimpsing Viola behind the senior officers and beckoning her forward.

She jolted, taken off-guard. The Sentinel's attention snapped to her, growing inquisitive and calculating. Viola hesitated, but managed to trudge toward them when MacCready gave her a slight shove from behind. She swallowed and marched through the ranks as people moved aside for her, unable to look away from the Sentinel's eyes.

Finally, when she reached them, she stood there uncertainly, not knowing whether to salute, say hello, or continue gaping at the intimidating woman dwarfing her by almost a foot in height.

"Knight Viola Belmonte is a former denizen of Vault 111," Maxson stated, solving the dilemma for her. "Knight, this is our chapter's esteemed second-in-command, also a former Vault dweller from Vault 101. Allow me to introduce Sentinel Alexandra Kincaid."

As Viola prepared to issue a respectful greeting, the Sentinel took her aback by reaching out and shaking her hand, the metal of their gloves clinking against each other.

"Alex. Just Alex," the Brotherhood's second-in-command said, grinning. "I've read reports on you, knight. It interests me that another person from a Vault is excelling in our faction. I wanted to meet this rising star firsthand as soon as possible."

Viola had no idea how to react anymore. "You… you honor me, Sentinel."

"Keep up the great work. I expect you to begin challenging me for my rank within a year."

"N-never, Sentinel."

"You say that now," the taller woman drawled as she released Viola's hand and winked at her. "But we'll just have to see, won't we?"

They regarded each other for a few wordless seconds before the Sentinel moved on to greet the other officers at Maxson's prompting.

Viola stared after her, now uncertain of everything she had learned about the Brotherhood up to this point. _Nate… I just met a very incredible, very strange woman._

Once the Elder and the Sentinel proceeded inside the Prydwen, the chatter and murmuring spread amongst the bystanders. The proctors gave the order for everyone to return to their duties, and Viola watched the crowd disperse, noticing that some other people shared her bewilderment with the Sentinel's conduct. She then wandered back toward Kells, who seemed to be waiting for her reaction.

"I didn't expect the Sentinel to be so… like that," she remarked.

Kells inclined his head. "Most of the Prydwen's crew has never met her before, either. Many of these knights hadn't even signed on as initiates yet when she left for the Mojave. But you and all the rest will soon learn what makes her a legend among us." He clapped a hand on her shoulder, nodding in the direction the honored party had gone. "If Elder Maxson is the head of the Brotherhood, Sentinel Kincaid is the heart."

Viola stayed in place as he strode back to his station, all thoughts of the debriefing shoved to the back of her mind. _The heart of the Brotherhood. Now I'm curious to know more about what makes the Sentinel so legendary._

MacCready came to stand beside her, oddly quiet in the aftermath.

She turned toward him. "Sorry, I know you've been wanting to take off. I'll see if I can speak to Maxson once—"

"I know her," he said all of a sudden, eyes wide as his line of sight remained locked on the entrance to the command deck. "She probably doesn't remember me, but boy, ten years ago, she hated my guts. My fault, I'll admit. But she was famous. Back then, everyone knew her as something else throughout the Capital Wasteland."

Viola peered at him, taking an even stronger interest in the Sentinel's history. "What?"

"The Lone Wanderer."

x-x-x-x-x

 **A/N:** I usually prefer to let the plot speak for itself as the story unravels, but due to the number of messages I've gotten, I will say now that the questions regarding the Lone Wanderer's position as Sentinel instead of Elder, Maxson's extremist ideals, and the Sole Survivor's involvement (or lack thereof) with the Minutemen will be answered in future chapters. Relax, I've got all planned out.


End file.
